Call it not vain;-they do not err, Who say, that when the Poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper… And celebrates his obsequies: Who say, tall cliff and cavern lon…

Viewless essence, thin and bare, Well nigh melted into air, Still with fondness hovering near The earthly form thou once didst w… Pause upon thy pinion’s flight;

The Wildgrave winds his bugle-hor… To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo… His fiery courser snuffs the morn, And thronging serfs their lord pur… The eager pack, from couples freed…

OH, lovers’ eyes are sharp to see… And lovers’ ears in hearing; And love, in life’s extremity, Can lend an hour of cheering! Disease had been in Mary’s bower

Farewell to Northmaven, Grey Hillswicke, farewell! The storms on thy haven, The storms on thy fell - To each breeze that can vary

There is mist on the mountain, and… But more dark is the sleep of the… A stranger commanded '€”- it sunk… It has frozen each heart, and benu… The dirk and the target lie sordid…

The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, In Ettrick’s vale, is sinking swe… The westland wind is hush and stil… The lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the landscape to mine eye

[ROSABELLE]6- O listen, listen, ladies gay! No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.

‘O hone a rie’! O hone a rie!’ The pride of Albin’s line is o’er… And fall’n Glenartney’s statelies… We ne’er shall see Lord Ronald mo… O, sprung from great Macgillianor…

Stern eagle of the far north-west, Thou that bearest in thy grasp the… Thou whose rushing pinions stir oc… Thou the destroyer of herds, thou… Amidst the scream of thy rage,

Soldier, wake - the day is peeping… Honour ne’er was won in sleeping, Never when the sunbeams still Lay unreflected on the hill: ’Tis when they are glinted back

Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea, The orange flower perfumes the bow… The breeze is on the sea. The lark his lay who thrill’d all…

Like April morning clouds, that p… With varying shadow, o’er the gras… And imitate, on field and furrow, Life’s chequered scene of joy and… Like streamlet of the mountain No…

Chorus Donald Caird’s come again! Donald Caird’s come again! Tell the news in brugh and glen,

Wasted, weary, wherefore stay, Wrestling thus with earth and clay… From the body pass away;- Hark! the mass is singing. From thee doff thy mortal weed,